The Solitary Constant
by taliesin1
Summary: Grissom wasn't that man, he never had been. (GS)


A/N: Written for the CSI TS Elliott Thousand Whispers Challenge. My first published CSI fic so I was a little apprehensive about the new characters. Disclaimer: Not mine, all Jerry and AZ's.  
  
The world turns, and the world changes,  
  
But one thing does not change. In all my years, one thing does not change.  
  
From, 'The Rock.' – T.S Elliot.  
  
--  
  
Grissom opened the front door of his townhouse, stepped inside, closed the door and put his keys down on the counter.  
  
The house was empty but he had accepted long ago that that was the way it would always be. He often wondered what it would be like to have someone else here, or perhaps a couple of somebody else's but in the end he'd chased the thoughts away.  
  
He wasn't that man. He never had been.  
  
--  
  
Sara opened the door to her apartment, stepped inside, closed the door and put her keys down on the counter.  
  
The apartment was empty but she had never accepted that that was the way it would always be, and even if she had accepted it, she had never liked it.  
  
Sara had frequently wished to have someone to come home too. Not that she was needy, because she didn't need it, she could live her life without it, but she wanted it. She thought briefly about the man she'd like to have waiting for her but quickly chased that thought away with a little harsh laugh to herself.  
  
He wasn't that man. Never had been.  
  
--  
  
Grissom made himself breakfast. Toast and a couple pieces of fresh fruit. Something simple.  
  
He thought about catching up with some of the latest entomological journal articles, or looking back through some old case files but in the end felt too tired to do either. So he sat down on his couch and flipped his TV on; not really caring what was on. More than likely he would fall asleep in front of it.  
  
As he closed his eyes after eating; drifting off to the soft tones of David Attenbourough on a nature documentary, ('And now the butterfly emerges from the cacoon, for the first time waiting to test out its wings...') he thought briefly about having someone there with him, to hold close, to make the house feel less alone.  
  
But he wasn't that man. Never had been.  
  
--  
  
Sara prepared her breakfast quickly. Fresh fruit over a little museli. Nothing complicated.  
  
She thought she might finish her book on forensic pathology but her eyes were starting to droop so she sat down on her couch and thought about turning on her hardly-used TV. She'd heard Nick telling Greg about his latest favourite nature documentary series that night. She pushed the button on her remote and almost audibly groaned when she saw what it was bout. Bugs, more specifically butterflies at the moment. ('Its first flight is tentative, feeling out its new appendages but finally gaining control. A graceful colour explosion on wings.')  
  
Sara thought about turning the TV off but her eyes slowly slipped closed. He final thought was as bugs and butterflies and of a man sitting alone in an interrogation room. She had thought about going in, but he wouldn't have liked that....  
  
He wasn't that man. Never had been.  
  
--  
  
Grissom woke up with a crick in his neck, remembering why he had to stop falling asleep on this couch. He glanced at his watch. He'd been asleep for an hour and a half.  
  
With a small shake of his head to clear the final cobwebs of sleep away he turned off his TV ('Flies do not feed on dry blood, only fresh blood is enough to tempt them....') and walked towards his bedroom. He still had time for a few more hours of sleep before he had to be back at work. He thought about getting completely changed but in the end just took of his shoes, socks and trousers and climbed into the cold bed.  
  
He briefly wished the bed was warmer and thought about who could make it warmer.  
  
But he wasn't that man. Never had been.  
  
--  
  
Sara woke up with a start. She thought she'd heard footsteps, but it must have been someone walking down the hallway, as they slowly faded away and the silence outside returned.  
  
She heard a faint humming and noticed that her TV was still on, ('the musket fly only lives and breeds in urban areas...'), she turned it off and walked over to the kitchen to get a glass of water.  
  
She glanced up at the clock on her microwave as she drank. She'd been asleep for two hours. She was grateful, as it was two hours more than she'd been getting most nights.  
  
Sara walked into her bedroom and slipped under the covers almost fully clothed.  
  
Lying on her back, staring at the ceiling she thought about the things she'd rather be doing while this awake. Kisses, touches, whispers, moans. She shook the thoughts from her head and snuggled deeper into her covers.  
  
He wasn't that man. Never had been.  
  
--  
  
Grissom dreamed.  
  
He dreamed of the past. Of elementary school and his fascination with the bugs on the sidewalk and the spiders in the cracks of the walls. Of junior high where they did their first biological dissection and where the first girl noticed his deep blue eyes. Of high school, of college, of his years as a postgrad student, and of his first years as a CSI, and they all melted together.  
  
Faces, names, bugs, cases, papers, and seminars, but all the time alone. The odd person here and there who had gotten closer than the others, even the occasional one who had made it to his bed, but all the time really alone. No one to open up too. No one to share anything with. His mother would always listen and give advice, her sense of humour being something he was always thankful for, but while he loved her dearly, he had even managed to drift away from her slowly. He would still visit and they would still talk, but it was more distant somehow.  
  
In physics there were constants, numbers put into equations that never changed. If Grissom had a constant he figured it would always be represented by the number one.  
  
Solitary. Alone.  
  
--  
  
'Evening, Sara.'  
  
'Hey, Grissom.'  
  
She looked tired and kept trying to disguise her yawns.  
  
'Didn't you sleep well?'  
  
'Uh, no,' she looked a little uncomfortable, 'there was just something I couldn't chase out of my head last night. Something about last week's case...' she put on a small smile, 'a cup of coffee and I'll be fine.'  
  
Grissom almost thought she looked afraid that he would take her work away from her because she was tired, but why would she be like that? He wasn't worried about the cases, he was worried about her, but he didn't tell her that, he just nodded.  
  
'Anyway,' she said, 'I'll just go and check the DNA evidence for the Carlisle case, I might have missed something this morning,' and she walked off.  
  
As Grissom watched her retreating back he thought about being alone. Of his solitary constant. And he almost thought about changing it. Of adding something to it.  
  
But he wasn't that man.  
  
He often wished he had been; that he was. To let himself have her.  
  
But he wasn't that man.  
  
-- 


End file.
